


Rushing Through My Veins

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Food Poisoning, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bob gets sick from drinking poisoned blood, both the Ways have ideas for how to make things better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rushing Through My Veins

When the university supply starts going bad, Bob doesn’t say anything. He’s in an awkward position, one that nine out of ten people would scorn him for putting himself in. Complaining won’t endear him to the masses. 

Bob’s not claiming he’s the new Rosa Parks, role recycled for the newest form of segregation. Not only would it be offensive to say -he’s heard enough about racefail for a lifetime from Gerard- the situations aren’t very parallel.

For one, for every person that treats him like a second class citizen, there’s a person that treats him like a god. Neither vilification nor worship really work for Bob, but he can’t exactly control it. 

For another, if it was to get physically volatile like the later freedom rides did, his kind would easily have the upper hand. Both wilds and rationers have at least twice the strength of a human.

Lastly, he’s not the first student of his kind. He’s still in the minority, but there are enough of his kind for late or underground classes, underground dorms, and new options on the meal plan. No, Bob definitely isn’t Rosa Parks, the vampire at the front of the bus.

The thing is, he’s the minority’s minority. Or minority’s wussy, some would say. It’s why Bob likes Frank. He understands having diet issues that make everyone make assumptions about you. Frank’s got a fucked up stomach that doesn’t really appreciate dairy or meat. Bob’s issue is that he can’t drink live meals. Not assaulting strangers, not from thralls throwing themselves at the nearest thing with fangs to get off on. Bob is a rationer, either intelligent or a traitor, depending on who you ask. 

Bob decides to deal with the dirty supply by not eating. It’ll be a while before he _need_ needs it, surely someone else will notice the problem and complain. It takes a few days to realise the flaw in the plan. Yes, the university has just over a thousand rationers, or about five percent of its student population. The problem is no one else is drinking the blood either. And with no one drinking it, they don’t have to order in more. 

It’s not like Bob can go just anywhere. As an alternate means vampire, he has to officially register with a facility to get blood. He’s of course registered through the college. He wants his meal plan, just like human students get theirs.

Bob nearly gets away with it. And then sitting in class, he faints. He wakes up to Ray carrying him to the cafeteria. Frank is scurrying along beside Ray, moving faster and half walking backwards so he can get better looks at him. He’s repeating _I didn’t even know vamps could faint_ every few feet. Bob demands to be put down. Ray stands him on his feet before he has to start struggling, but he keeps a hand on his back until they make it to the mess hall.

Ray makes him get a contaminated bag. They both sit across the table and watch as he drinks it. He can’t explain he can’t drink it, that it’s dirty. They wouldn’t understand. Bob doesn’t begrudge them their aliveness, but being alive means they can eat anywhere they choose.

Bob’s up the entire night puking. He’s never felt this bad before, even when he was alive. It was merely gross chugging it down, but it burns coming up, like puking fire. It’s the first time the toilet has been used since he and Matthew moved in. University regs say every room needs washroom access, just in case humans are in the vamp dorms. It’s not fair, humans aren’t required to have black out curtains in their dorms. No vampire really expects fair. 

Matthew freaks out for a second when he stumbles over him on him way to the shower. Vampires aren’t supposed to get sick. He calms when Bob tells him not to drink the caf bags; just rolls his eyes and leans over him to turn on the taps. Apparently that’s just common sense.

He makes himself go to class in the morning. He functions better with sleep, but he doesn’t need it for a time, just like food. It’s a quiet day. His throat is too seared to give him any interest in raising his hand and joining the discussions.

At least, it’s quiet until after classes are over. Bob knows he’s about to get confronted when he meets the guys for pool after class. His friends are attentive, but they don’t normally stare at people when they walk into a room. He’s not going to mutter ‘what’ though, as much as it’s his first instinct. Asking to be ranted at sets bad karmic precedence.

He doesn’t need to anyway. After about ten seconds of silence Gerard bursts out “do you know Jared Leto had to tell me the school blood is rancid!” 

Bob knows he’s supposed to cower under Gerard’s righteous indignation of not being told, but he’s mostly just curious. He didn’t know Gerard and Jared were friends. For a rationer, Jared doesn’t think much of humans. “Why did he tell you?”

“He told the whole class. Ranted about how the practices meant to help us only hurt us’. And then one of the anti’s told him to do something or shut up. You know, implying that he should take a flying leap towards the sun. But he said he was, that he and Shannon were dropping out to become wilds.”

Now Bob gets the stares. His friends are great, but somewhat dramatic and very prone to jumping to conclusions. “I’m not dropping out. I’m not gonna be a wild.”

Really, he doesn’t understand how the Letos can make that decision so easily. Not just the inherent dangers of removing yourself from the rationer list and letting it be known you’re now available for hunting. Doing this, Jared and Shannon are putting themselves in a situation where they either attack innocent humans, or take advantage of stupid or fucked up ones. Bob doesn’t think he could do that.

“Of course you’re not. You don’t need to do that to eat. We started a blood drive petition!” With Mikey’s look Bob gets the distinct impression Gerard started a petition. “Know where your blood is going, that sort of thing.”

“You know that’s kinda weird, right? Like me starting a petition so you can meet chickens before you eat them.” He thinks about how that sounds, and quickly adds “uh. Not that I look at humans like cattle or anything.” 

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Geeway didn’t get anyone to hand over a pint. Seeing as it’s illegal and all, I guess no one wanted in.”

Bob nods his head to acknowledge Frank’s words, then tries to ignore the way the movement makes the room quake. He takes the cue Ray’s passing to him. When he bends to break the triangle of balls he nearly keels over. He can’t recover in time, and the four crowd around him.

“We’re taking you to your room, and then we’re complaining to the Dean.” There’s a threat at the end of Gerard’s sentence, like he’s prepared to do battle if the others don’t agree.

“Damn straight we are. This is fucking ridiculous.”

There’s no way he can talk them out of quitting their just started game. It’s all he can do to convince them that Ray doesn’t need to carry him again. Bob’s not sure he would want to convince them even if he could. Crashing on his bed sounds like a pretty sweet option to him. 

The walk seems miles longer than it normally does, but they’re buffering him on all sides. When they finally make it Frank takes his key when his hand shakes too badly to open the lock. Ray and Mikey deposit him on the edge of the bed. Bob slumps, but doesn’t lay down immediately. He should at least see them out first. Manners, and all. Especially considering they’re off to fight for his rights. Except Mikey doesn’t go towards the door, he just sits beside him on the grey covers. 

“You guys go. Make a stink. I’ll contact some media later.”

He doesn’t miss the look between Gerard and Mikey, he just doesn’t know what it’s about. It lasts as long as the door takes to swing shut. Then Mikey’s angling himself towards Bob. “I know Gerard’s Meals On Legs petition seems ridiculous, but, uh. Could you drink from one person?”

“Not legally.”

“Dude, do I look like a law abiding citizen? I mean you, personally. Can you drink from someone with a face attached?”

“It’s hard, normally. Easier if I’m turned on.” He never really pegged Mikey as an interrogator -if anything because he’d hear it all from Gerard, who definitely is- but it can’t hurt to answer. 

A second later Mikey is sucking a hickey onto his neck. Not that he bruises normally.

“That doesn’t-” Bob pulls away slightly and Mikey finishes the movement. 

“No? But I thought-”

“It’s making me think about necks, which is like making you think about hammers right before you eat a steak.”

“Point taken. How about this?” 

Mikey goes for his zipper without reservation. Bob can’t help but have them for him. “You don’t have to. I know it’s weird. I’m old and I don’t breathe.”

“I don’t normally listen to the lungs of the person I’m getting off. I’ll just do this, and you do whenever yours feels right.”

It feels right now. His body is tingling enough, brain distracted enough that he could easily bite down on Mikey. Except as far as he knows this is a friendship thing, just helping him feed. So as soon as he does, Mikey will stop jerking him off. Bob’s not quite willing to let him stop yet.

Eventually though it has to be enough. He turns and Mikey turns with him, giving him better access. Bob bites before he can think of all the issues attached, the bitter war between the rationers and the wilds that even today is easier to just blame on the humans so you can forget no matter who you are you’ve betrayed someone. After weeks of denial, and yesterday’s rancid food it flows like the blood of God himself over his tongue. Mikey doesn’t so much as flinch. It’s not okay, no one would justify it. But it’s so good.

Bob pulls away because he has to, not because he wants to. Only when he sees the two drops of blood beading does he remember to apologise. 

“Don’t be sorry. It was consensual, more than Gee harassing everyone that walked by. And it helped, right?” Bob looks away. “Obviously. Stupid question. So it’s all fine. Except for one thing.”

He knows it’s paranoia controlling him, but he immediately thinks Mikey’s going to reveal himself as an undercover rations agent, and that he’ll be reclassified as a wild, available for tracking and removing off the face of the earth in whatever way anyone deems necessary. Instead Mikey just asks “you want me to finish up? I bet you’d come in a minute or two.”

Bob could laugh with relief. That would give off the wrong impression, so he just asks “has anyone ever said no to you offering to finish a handjob?”

“How many do you think I give out? And no.”

“Well, I’m not the first.” He means it to answer both questions, and thankfully that’s how Mikey takes it. His hand descends again and Bob arches his hips up into it. With the taste of Mikey still on his gums, it’s a quick orgasm. “Do you want me to-”

Mikey shakes his head. “Didn’t get hard. Not my kink. But if you want to find out what is, come to my room after my shift tonight.”

It’s a date Bob definitely isn’t going to miss.


End file.
